The Perfect Match
by HP-Forever-XX
Summary: "It started with all of these things, and with one universal truth: Harry Potter was in love with Ginny Weasley." Harry orchestrates a strategy that will ensure Ginny plays as the Holyhead Harpies Seeker and catches the Golden Snitch in the most important Quidditch match of her life. But what, exactly, are his motives?
**The Perfect Match**

"I need you to do something very important for me," Harry murmured, nestling his head into Ginny's hair, his arms snaking around her waist from behind.

"You know you're not supposed to be in here," she snorted in response.

"I'm Harry Potter—I'm well-renowned in the Quidditch community. I was the youngest Seeker in a century—"

"Mhmm, and so humble too."

"I'm a _celebrity._ I'm—"

"Not sure that permits you to be in the changing room of an _all-witch_ Quidditch team, though. Or any Quidditch team, for that matter."

"Alright, alright," Harry conceded, laughing gently. Still holding Ginny from behind, he kissed her cheek. "But I'm here now, and it's just us, and I need you to do something very important for me."

"I'm listening," Ginny said with a smirk, "but I'm not promising I'll do it."

"It's three things, actually."

"Oh, wow, well, that's a lot to ask, now, isn't it?"

"Just listen," Harry laughed.

"Okay, okay, I'm listening."

"Three things I need you to do," he said. "I need you to close your eyes."

Ginny listened patiently.

"Close your eyes," Harry whispered.

Ginny did so, though not without rolling them first.

"Next, I need you to take a deep breath."

Ginny didn't hesitate to do so, inhaling deeply and slowly. In doing so she felt a sense of calm—brief relief from the state of anxiety she'd been in leading up to the match. The oh-so-important match—and not just for her. The whole team was relying on her. Gwenog was relying on her more than anyone. This was the most important match she'd ever play.

"What's the final thing?" she asked in a quiet voice, eyes still closed, glad that Harry's strong arms were still wrapped around her waist. It made her feel safe. It made her feel supported in more ways than just physically.

"The final thing I need you to do," Harry said calmly, "is catch that Snitch."

* * *

It all started a month ago—in the office of Gwenog Jones, Captain of, and Beater for the Holyhead Harpies. Harry hadn't told anyone about this particular meeting, least of all Ginny. Thankfully Gwenog hadn't asked too many questions after Harry's initial request—they were good friends, after all—but her curiosity was evident as she observed Harry from across her desk.

"How may I help you, Mr Potter?"

Harry eyed the paperwork that littered the desk—old Quidditch strategies and such. He suspected Gwenog had been doing her best to organise everything so she could file what would be important to the Harpies and clear out that which was now irrelevant. A stressful task, and one which she was running out of time to do. Looking back to Gwenog, exhaustion was evident in every inch of her demeanour, from the dark rings under her eyes, to the unwashed hair and slumped posture. But despite that, her eyes twinkled with kindness, and the smile she offered Harry was genuine.

"It's about the match," he told her, trying to be as straight to the point as he could, not wanting to waste Gwenog's time.

"The Caerphilly match?"

Harry nodded. "A pretty big one."

"Huge," Gwenog agreed, still smiling. "Final match of the season—we win this and we win the whole League."

"Huge for you, too," Harry pointed out.

Gwenog dropped her eyes, something of a humble expression adorning her face. "My last match." She gulped. "Ever. And then that's it—retirement. No more professional Quidditch. Over for good…"

"You're really gonna miss it, aren't you?" Harry asked gently, noticing how the twinkle in her eyes had suddenly dimmed to that of undeniable sorrow.

Gwenog just shook her head, forcing her smile back. "Of course I will—Quidditch has always been such a huge part of my life. But… it's time to move on."

"You've revolutionised the Harpies," Harry assured her. "And I really mean that, Gwen. I get why you want to leave this behind, but your whole life _is_ Quidditch. Maybe a huge national League team is too intimidating nowadays—or too much effort, or whatever it is that's sending you into retirement—but to give up on Quidditch completely? What about captaining a smaller, less time-consuming team?"

"Honestly, Harry, I haven't thought about it that much. All I know for now is that I have a month left of being Captain for the Harpies, and I've got a lot to do before that month's out. I want us to go out on a high— _I_ want to go out on a high."

"And what better way to do that than leading your team to victory and winning the League, right?"

"Right," Gwenog agreed. "We've had such a good season, and we're so close now! This would be the perfect way to end my Quidditch career." A look of wistful endearment had spread out on her face, almost enough to conceal the evidence of exhaustion.

"It _would_ be perfect," Harry agreed. "And that, ah, that kind of brings it back to why I wanted to talk about the match with you in the first place. You see… I want this match to be perfect, too."

Gwenog cocked her head.

"And in order for that to happen," Harry went on, "I need to ask something pretty huge of you."

"Of me?" Gwenog asked. "With regards to our match against Caerphilly?"

Harry nodded. "Gwen"—he hesitated, wondering whether to go for it—"I need Ginny to play as Seeker."

Gwenog's reaction was delayed—on account of the fact that she wasn't entirely sure what Harry's angle was. Was he joking? Trying to be comical for some bizarre reason? But when his serious expression didn't appear to falter, she knew that wasn't the case. "You want Ginny," she said slowly, making sure she understood properly, "to play as Seeker?"

"Yes."

"But Ginny's a Chaser. I mean, you know that, right? Of course you know that," she muttered, shaking her head in amusement. "But wait… you're being serious?"

"I am," Harry said, hoping with all his might that Gwenog wouldn't simply dismiss him. "I know Ginny's a Chaser. I know she always has been for the Holyhead Harpies—and a good one at that—but back at Hogwarts she had some experience as a Seeker, too. She's fast, and she's agile, and she wouldn't disappoint."

"Harry," Gwenog said incredulously, "this is a joke, surely? It doesn't matter how good a Seeker Ginny may be—she's a _Chaser_. She's _our_ Chaser, and she always has been. This is the most important match of the whole season, not to mention my career, and I need Ginny to be on top-form, doing what she does best. And that," she said, almost proudly, "is being a Chaser. There's really no question."

"No, I know, but I've put a lot of thought into this, trust me. I _need_ Ginny to play as Seeker. You have two other incredible Chasers—"

"We also have an incredible Seeker."

"Let me talk to your Seeker," Harry pleaded. "I know, once I explain it all to her, she'd happily let Ginny take her place."

"You think my Seeker would willingly forfeit what could be a career-defining—nay, a _life_ -defining—moment, just so your girlfriend can have that glory?"

"It's so much more than that," Harry insisted. "Let me explain—"

"Who would replace Ginny, Harry?" Gwenog interrupted. "We still need three Chasers. And what do you possibly think could convince her to merely… switch roles?"

"I don't know yet, but I can't have Ginny be suspicious. I need her to think she has no choice but to play as Seeker. I swear, if you let me talk to your Seeker, I can explain everything to her and we can make it believable. We'll get the whole team in on it. We pretend she has an injury or something, or a family emergency—any believable reason for why she wouldn't be able to play in the match—then we convince Ginny to play as Seeker in her place. Your Seeker—"

"Grace."

"—Grace, right—I know, if you just let me explain things to her, she'll support me in this. At least… I _hope_ she will."

"And the third Chaser position?"

"You have reserves—I know you do."

"None as good as Ginny."

Harry couldn't help but smile, proud of his girlfriend's achievements.

"We also have a reserve Seeker," Gwenog reminded him. "It makes absolutely no sense for Ginny to replace Grace in such circumstances, and she knows that."

Harry's heart momentarily sank. He had thought he'd figured it all out so well. Ginny was so smart—she'd see through it all in an instance—which is why he had to make it believable, taking every little detail into account and erasing absolutely every means for suspicion on Ginny's behalf.

"But we can make it work," Harry said desperately. "If you tell her the Harpies need her—that no one, not even the reserve, could play the position as well as she can—she'll just have to believe you."

"And you really think Ginny will do it?" Gwenog asked with a hint of scepticism.

Harry wasn't sure, to be perfectly honest. Ginny was stubborn. Would she really forfeit her skill as a Chaser?

 _Yes_ , Harry decided. Ginny would do anything for the Harpies. If her playing as Seeker was their only chance at success, for the team _and_ for Gwenog, then she would do it. Of that, harry had no doubt. But Gwenog still seemed far from convinced.

"I do," Harry said firmly. "If I know Ginny as well as I think I do then I know, one-hundred percent, that she'll go through with it."

"Harry," Gwenog sighed, "one month is an awfully short amount of time to prepare for such a drastic, last-minute change. We have strategies," she said, indicating to the paperwork strewn on her desk, "and months of prior training, perfecting our technique and harmony as a team. If we disrupt those dynamics now, it could cost us the match. Do we really believe that Ginny will be ready to play as a Seeker in only a month? That our reserve will be on par with her level of skill?"

"We have to," Harry said weakly. "I need this to be perfect. I believe in Ginny, I really do. And I believe in the Harpies."

As Harry sat on the edge of his seat with all the anticipation of, Gwenog sat in silence—deep, thoughtful silence—weighing up everything Harry had proposed to her that night. Finally, after what felt like an eternity to Harry, she leant in, looking him in the eye.

"Maybe this will work," Gwenog said. "Maybe we can _make_ this work. And it's clear that you've put a lot of thought into this and that it's hugely important to you. But I have just one question, Harry Potter."

"Which is?" Harry asked eagerly.

Gwenog cocked her head again. _"Why?_ "

Harry relaxed, a deep grin spreading from ear to ear. "I'll tell you."

And he did.

* * *

In truth, it started even before that—a few weeks prior to Harry's meeting with Gwenog. It started, as it always did, with Ginny.

It started with the way she laughed, her shoulders heaving and her eyes creasing up to the point where tears threatened to escape. It started with the way she smiled, a grin that stretched far further than those dimples, all the way until her eyes lit up. It started with the way she slept, her hair fanned out against the pillow like tendrils of fire against a porcelain sea. It started with the way she argued, the way she sang, the way she fought, the way she cried. It started with the way she said his name—sometimes tender, sometimes angry, sometimes soft, and sometimes impassioned.

It started with all of these things, and with one universal truth: Harry Potter was in love with Ginny Weasley.

It wasn't until he was laid alone whilst she slept peacefully by his side, throwing and catching the Snitch that responded to his—and only his—touch, that he knew how it would end.

Or rather, how it would truly begin.

* * *

"This is insane, Harry," Hermione said as the man in question pushed his way through the stands, apologising as he went. "Really, _really_ insane." But she was smiling as she said it.

Eventually, Harry was able to collapse down into his seat, having almost sent one woman hurtling forwards several rows. Hermione separated him from Ron, who had been somewhat indifferent about the whole affair—conflicted, as one would expect of a protective older brother, but also strangely uplifted and, though he'd probably not admit it, _proud._

"It's not _insane_ ," Harry countered. "Daring, perhaps. _Bold_."

"Thoughtful," Hermione added, nodding to herself. "But with a lot of potentiality to go wrong…"

"And do your doubts lie with Ginny or with me?" Harry teased.

"Both," Hermione said. "Neither. Oh, I don't know. I'm just saying—"

"Hermione, I've been through every possible problem in my mind _countlessly_ , but now all we can do is just sit and wait. And desperately hope that, as insane as it very well may be, everything works out."

"Is she nervous?" Ron asked, taking them both by surprise. He'd been highly invested in trying to levitate peanuts down to the box a few rows below them where the entire Weasley family sat, in order to hit his brothers on the back of the head. (He stopped when he accidentally got his mum instead, and she gave him the same glare she'd had on her face when she'd killed Bellatrix Lestrange).

Harry smiled. "Not as nervous as I am."

Ron returned his smile, genuine and reassuring. "I really hope it _does_ work out. Be a bit embarrassing otherwise… considering you got everybody here." He nodded down at the box.

Of the whole strategy in place, it was that part that Harry was most proud of—having the entire Weasley family reunited to witness what he hoped would be a life-defining moment. The box had been too small to accommodate them all, so Harry had volunteered himself, Ron, and Hermione to take three separate seats (much to Ron's chagrin—he'd wanted to sit in the box). It was only to them that Harry had confided his whole plan to, alongside the entire Harpies team. But for the rest of the Weasleys, this was no more than a normal match, nothing special.

Well, it _was_ special, regardless of what else Harry had planned. It was still the final of the Quidditch League, Gwenog Jones' last match as Captain and Beater for the Holyhead Harpies, not to mention the biggest match of Ginny's career. But they had no clue what was in store.

And nor did Ginny.

"Oh my gosh, it's starting," Hermione gushed, suddenly looking as nervous as Harry felt.

She was right—the crowds had erupted into cheers as fourteen tiny figures (fifteen, including the referee) made their way onto the pitch. Harry saw Ginny immediately, her gleaming red hair easily discernible against the deep green of the Harpies' Quidditch robes. His heart gave an involuntary lurch. She followed at the back of the line—the place of the Seeker. Even from high up in the stands Harry could sense the determination within Ginny as she gripped her broomstick, staring resolutely ahead.

In just minutes, the match was underway.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, sitting on the edge of his seat. He wasn't sure he released it for the entire match.

* * *

"Ron, please stop swearing," Hermione murmured, looking around in embarrassment. It was the tenth time in the last five minutes alone.

"But they're cheating! They're cheating! They're—"

"They're _not_ cheating—they're just playing the game well!"

"But the Harpies are down fifty points and—"

"And if Ginny catches the Snitch then they'll win anyway, regardless of the current score!"

"Well, _yes_ , but—"

Harry couldn't even bring himself to listen to their incessant bickering. He was too intent on watching the game, his whole body tensed. In the last two hours the Golden Snitch had made several appearances, but neither Ginny nor the Caerphilly Seeker had been able to catch it yet.

The Harpies _were_ down, and Harry couldn't help but feel partially responsible. The reserve playing in place of Ginny was nowhere on par with her and had missed some shots that Ginny would have easily made. But Hermione was right. The current score didn't matter, just so long as Ginny caught—

"The Golden Snitch!" The commentator shrieked, sending the crowds into uproar once more.

Several things happened at once: Ron and Hermione stopped arguing, heads sharply drawn to the tiny golden ball that was now streaking across the stadium; a lot of people leapt to their feet in excitement; Harry's heart skipped a beat; And Ginny dived, with the impulsive speed of the Snitch itself.

Seconds passed, but the following moment felt like hours to Harry. Though there was a deafening roar from the surrounding stands, particularly from the box containing the Weasley family, he could hear nothing but his own thumping heart. And when Ginny did it, her gloved hand clasping the ball mid-air with the Caerphilly Seeker's hand no more than what seemed like an inch away, he was paralysed in awe.

It wasn't until Hermione grabbed his arm, screaming in his ear that he needed to get down to the pitch, when time seemed to start again.

Ginny was drenched in sweat but looked more beautiful than Harry had ever seen her before, red hair plastered to her skin. She didn't even see him as he approached, enfolded in the centre of an ecstatically shrieking huddle of green.

And when she did see him, her eyes lit up, reminding Harry exactly why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place.

He had to remind himself not to get caught up though—not even when she ran into his arms, flinging her arms around him in a tight, victorious embrace.

"Do you still have the Snitch?" Harry blurted out, forgetting to even congratulate her.

Ginny released him, a look of surprise and confusion on her face. "What?" she asked breathlessly.

"The Snitch you caught—do you still have it?"

Ginny looked down towards her gloved hand in confusion, still balled into a fist, with two delicate wings protruding from each side. "Yeah, of course, but—"

"Look at it," Harry instructed, unable to contain his grin.

Ginny looked at him with deep suspicion, unsure whether she should be amused or concerned. She also felt incredibly self-conscious, realising that not only was her entire team watching her, but also thousands of spectators from the stands.

"Harry, I don't understand."

"Flesh memory," he told her proudly, still as mysterious as before, and still grinning. "All Snitches have them—they only respond to the touch of those who first touched it."

"So?" Ginny asked with an uneasy laugh. "I've never touched this Snitch before anyway?"

But that wasn't strictly true. Harry, with the permission of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and all the officials involved in the British and Irish Quidditch League, had been allowed to take this particular Golden Snitch before its Quidditch debut, so long as he never touched it with his own flesh himself. Ginny had slept peacefully as he grazed it against her delicate fingertips the night before, never suspecting a thing.

Harry didn't even want to think about how embarrassing this all would have been had Ginny not ended up catching the Snitch as she just had done.

And he needn't worry about that anymore—because she had.

And as Ginny looked down in confusion at the Golden Snitch that now lay motionless in her hand, she saw four engraved words slowly reveal themselves at her touch. A few seconds later and it had sprung open to reveal what had been so carefully encased within—a gleaming diamond ring.

When she looked back to Harry she was only slightly more surprised to find him on one knee, and just as breathless as he spoke those four simple, but hugely important words.

"Will you marry me?"

And, of course, she said _yes._

* * *

 **Originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 4—Round 3**

 **Team:** Holyhead Harpies  
 **Position:** Captain  
 **Task:** Incorporate 'Harpies/Harpy' in the story


End file.
